


My Crustaceous Friend

by thor20



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: 4+1 Things, Character Study, Familiars, Gen, One Shot, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:28:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22257208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thor20/pseuds/thor20
Summary: Whenever he cast magic, it was a cosmic roll of the dice. So when it came to finding Snippers, it was easiest to stand up and actually do it himself, rather than use magic to call him back.It wasn’t that he was afraid. No, no, that wasn’t it at all. Thatcouldn’tbe it; it was physically impossible. Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt was a knight, after all, and knights weren’t supposed to be afraid.---Or, four places Fitzroy found Snippers the Crab, and one place Snippers found him.
Relationships: Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt & Argo Keene & Master Firbolg, Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt & Rainer, Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt & Snippers
Comments: 26
Kudos: 203





	My Crustaceous Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a discord Candlenights exchange! This is my first foray into TAZ Grad content, and was written at about the 5 episode mark, so characterizations and such may be a bit off. Still had fun with it, though! hope yall enjoy!

He knew what he was doing. He really did. Even though, by all accounts, he was doing this wrong.

Technically, Fitzroy could find Snippers with magic when he lost track of him; he could dismiss him and resummon him, and Snippers would be by his side in an instant. He could even just call out for the crustacean, and he would come skittering on his little crabby legs to their dorm room. But despite all outside appearances, Fitzroy was still getting used to the idea of magic. It was…

Fitzroy would rather say he was bewildered. Caught off-guard. It was more painless to put it that way. Yes, magic was a boon in many respects; it helped him in battle, and it made him look slightly more impressive to the other students. If there was any clout to be gained from it, he’d seize every scrap he could. Despite its advantages, though, he was reluctant to use it. Especially for something like dismissing Snippers and calling him back, when he lost track of him.

His magic came in bursts of poorly-thought-out impulse, or uncontrollable, staggering mistakes, usually on the battlefield - and there was no telling what would come out of it. Whenever he cast magic, it was a cosmic roll of the dice. So when it came to finding Snippers, it was easiest to stand up and actually do it himself, rather than use magic to call him back.

It wasn’t that he was afraid. No, no, that wasn’t it at all. That  _ couldn’t  _ be it; it was physically impossible. Sir Fitzroy Maplecourt was a knight, after all, and knights weren’t supposed to be afraid.

**THE GARGOYLE**

_ Fitzroy, _

_ Keep a closer eye on your stupid fucking crab. He keeps getting into my food. Can’t you dismiss him and call him back? ...Unless you’ve already forgotten how. In which case, knowing your magical track record, I offer my deepest condolences in advance to the families of your roommates. They will be sorely missed. _

_ Keep yourself in line. I’m dispelling the crab into smithereens, if I find him nibbling my Fantasy Doritos again. _

_ \-- Rolandus _

Oh, that prick. Absolute fucking prick. Fitzroy sniffed, looking down his nose at the letter, and scrunched it up into a ball. He lobbed it at the trash can next to Argo’s desk; it bounced off the rim and arced gracefully to the floor. “Disgusting,” he muttered to himself, flopping down on his bed. Whether he was referring to Rolandus’s idiotic letter or to his own poor aim, he couldn’t decide. 

He was inclined to think Rolandus was pulling his leg. Snippers was - he took a deep breath - a kind,  _ polite _ crustacean, who would do nothing out of line or rude. It was inconceivable. Fitzroy had nothing good to say about Rolandus, sure, but that didn’t mean Snippers was taking cues from him and messing with his food.

Though that comment about his magic… that was a low fucking blow. Rolandus must have been mad. Fitzroy squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. The ceiling remained the same; at this point in the semester, Fitzroy was glad that it hadn’t changed, magically or otherwise.

_ Treat the crab with kindness. _

Well, the kindest thing he could do for  _ himself  _ right now was make sure Snippers didn’t end up in someone’s bouillabaisse. If he didn’t, Festo would probably set him on fire. Fitzroy sighed deeply, heaved himself out of bed, and went to look for his familiar.

Something squeaked overhead. Fitzroy froze, one foot poised above the next floorboard. “Hello?” he said slowly.

Nothing. Just the distant clatter of feet on stairs, swords clanging in the distant practice fields. He swallowed and cleared his throat, glancing up. “...Is someone there?” He paused. “Rainer, if this is one of your squirrels, it is  _ not  _ funny -”

“My name ain’t Rainer, kid,” drawled Gary’s voice, and Fitzroy jumped. His boot heels clattered on the floor. “Hey, hey, watch yourself! You fall on your ass, there ain’t anything I can do for ya. I’m kinda stuck to the wall and all. You need somethin’? Gary’s here to help.”

Fitzroy’s eyes narrowed. “No, actually,” he said. “I… think I’m all set, thank you.”

Settled between Gary’s horns, safely ensconced on his head, was Snippers the Immortal Crab. Splendid.

“You sure? You got any questions, just let one o’ me know, and we can get ya set straight.”

“Yeah, I get the gist, I think,” Fitzroy said. “You’ve been marvelously helpful, Gary, thank you. Snippers? Come now, my - my crustaceous friend.”

“Is crustaceous even a word?” Gary said, half to himself.

Fitzroy shrugged. “Even if it wasn’t, it is now. Snippers, come along. Let’s go to brunch.”

**THE CAT**

“And that’s just the start of it,” Fitzroy said, sweeping the door open with one hand. He stood aside as Argo and the firbolg ambled in. Argo shuffled backwards into the room, not breaking eye contact with Fitzroy, and almost slammed into the doorframe. “Watch yourself, good heavens!”

“Sorry! The lights are out, can, eh… ”

“Can you not… cast.” The firbolg folded his hands together pensively, brow furrowed. “Prest-i… digitate… digitation? Light a candle? It is… cantrip.”

“Yeah, that’s it!” Argo exclaimed. The firbolg hummed, satisfied, and shuffled towards his end of the room. “Can’t you?”

“We’re about to go to bed, there’s really no point,” Fitzroy said hastily. “But as I was saying, Argo, the applications of citrus fruits in cooking is  _ limitless.”  _ Argo made a faint noise of interest. “Why, when I was studying for my knightship -”

“Fitzroy.”

“- there was this wonderful restaurant run by a dark elf, in a quaint little desert town near campus, and she made the most  _ marvelous  _ key lime pie -”

_ “Fitzroy.” _

Fitzroy paused. “What?”

The firbolg loomed out of the shadows, completely blocking the window. “You forget to be quiet,” he said softly, arms crossed across his chest. “There are… creatures, sleeping. You are too loud.”

“I -”

Argo swatted him on the shoulder, craning his neck to look past the firbolg. “You heard the man, shut up!” he said, but with no real heat in his voice. His gleaming, fishlike eyes widened. “Oh… criminy.” 

In the dark, Fitzroy’s half-elven eyes were an advantage. He bit back a snort as he saw Snippers cuddled up with the hard-to-perceive cat, right on Argo’s pillow. When Argo made no moves to approach the bed, the firbolg heaved a great, rumbling sigh and moved forward, scooping up both Snippers and the cat in his massive hands. “Where shall I put them?” he whispered.

“Just - just stick them on the foot of my bed, or something,” Fitzroy whispered back. “Just don’t wake them up.” Snippers let out a soft, sleepy chitter and burrowed into the cat’s half-invisible fur. 

**THE BATHROOM**

There was something about Last Hope that made it absurdly difficult to do his hair. Sometimes the entire left side of it stood straight up; sometimes it hung in staticky curtains that didn’t respond to a brush, a vigorous head shake, any products, or death threats. One memorable morning, he’d woken up with his hair sticking out perfectly straight in every direction. Waking up early was absolutely crucial to make sure his hair was perfect.

Perhaps Last Hope was just... humid. That might explain why Argo’s hair did so infuriatingly well in it. 

One morning, Fitzroy almost slept through Gary’s summons to breakfast; the clatter of something in the bathroom startled him awake. The world blurred and filtered into place, like mist burning away from the mountains. The room was filled with bright sunlight. Once it registered that he’d overslept, he almost fell out of bed in his haste to get out. Fitzroy untangled himself from the blankets and stumbled towards the bathroom, hands already halfway to his hair.

“Hold this, will ya?”

Argo’s voice made him pause. “What?” he said snippily.

There was a soft clatter. “What?” Argo repeated, bewildered. “Fitzroy, is that you?”

“No, it’s Hieronymous fucking Wiggenstaff.  _ Yes,  _ it’s Fitzroy! Who were you talking to?”

“I, uh…”

Argo’s voice was strained, nervous. Fitzroy’s eyes narrowed; he pulled open the door, sticking his head into the bathroom. “Oh, for crying out loud,” he exclaimed, almost closing the door again. 

Their dorm bathroom was small as it was, and they could rarely fit more than one person in it comfortably. Argo was crammed against the countertop, elbow almost in the sink, shoulders hunched in front of the mirror. His hands clutched his long, flowing blue hair; he was midway through sweeping it into a ponytail as best he could in the cramped space, without knocking over Fitzroy’s rows and rows of hair products.

And Snippers sat right at his elbow, clutching a comb and various other hair accessories in many of his claws. Fitzroy pulled open the door again. “Oh, you traitor. Do you have anything to say for yourself?” he snapped, glaring at Snippers.

“What?” Argo said indignantly. “He’s helping!”

Snippers said nothing - just stared right back, eyes wide. Then he looked down at the comb in his claws, looked back up, and held it out, eyes bright and innocent. Argo wheezed with laughter. Fitzroy caught a glimpse of his hair in the mirror, over Argo’s shoulder, and groaned. His hair looked like a haystack after a stiff wind, sticking every which way.

Snipper held the comb out just a bit more, creeping closer. “See, he’s helping,” Argo said. He gave Fitzroy a broad, winning grin in the mirror. “Hey. Let’s help get that mess set right, eh? We’ll go down to breakfast together.”

**THE ABACUS**

“But can he?”

“He has… no need. He is crab.”

“But  _ can he,  _ is the question? I don’t  _ need  _ to order strawberries with my crepes, but they certainly add pizzazz to my meal -”

“Math is not…” The firbolg’s words trailed off, into a low grumble. He folded his hands under his chin. “Pizzazz,” he said, sounding out the word. He almost made it rhyme with  _ pizza.  _ “Pizzazz must be good. Pizzazz is spice of life. But math. There is no spice to math… no -” The firbolg glowered at the book on his desk. “It is... dried shit flakes, on the crepe of life.” 

Fitzroy giggled. Across the room, Argo snickered, burying his face in a book. 

“Entrepreneur, I understand. Equity, I am… getting there.” The firbolg gestured helplessly at his textbook. Fitzroy squinted at the equations there, attempting to make sense of it. He had to admit, it looked like a bunch of complicated nonsense. “But this is -” The firbolg’s voice shook with something - either confusion, frustration, or righteous indignation.  _ “Cost-volume profit analysis? _ There is no need for  _ crab  _ to learn this.” He glowered at the book.  _ “I _ vill learn.  _ I _ vill make effort. But I would subject no other unvilling creature to this.”

“I’m not asking him to solve the crumbling economy, I’m just curious,” Fitzroy sighed. “Can Snippers do math?”

“Ask him yourself,” Argo said, pointing at the firbolg’s desk. A needlessly complicated abacus sat at the other end, and behind it, Fitzroy could see Snippers’ curved, bumpy back and one of his legs. “Let’s see. Snippers? Hey, Snippers? What’s two plus two?”

There was a brief moment of silence. Fitzroy squinted at the abacus, and saw Snippers’ tiny claws moving beads from one end of a bar to the other. He silently counted the beads the crab moved. “Five,” he said flatly. “He thinks two plus two is five.”

“Hmm, well… depends on who you ask.”

“You’re full of shit,” Fitzroy said to Argo.

“Crab is…. your magic,” the firbolg rumbled. “Crab thinks two and two is five.” He flicked one of the beads back to the start; four remained on the end. “Argo is full of shit? Speak for yourself first.” Fitzroy stared at the firbolg, aghast, as Argo collapsed into laughter again.

**THE CHESSBOARD**

“Rainer? You here? Buckminster’s looking for you - oh, jiminy  _ crickets,”  _ Fitzroy yelped, turning around and slamming the door behind him. His voice was still audible through the closed door. “I am gone. I’m out! Buckminster’s in the courtyard, if you want to meet up with him!”

Silence. Rainer took a deep breath and sighed, looking back down at her desk. She shook her head. “Unfortunate,” she said. The squirrel skeleton on her desk nodded in sad agreement. “I think he really would have liked to see this.” 

Snippers chittered, picking up a chess piece. “Yes, it’s your move, go on ahead,” Rainer said, smiling at him. “You’re really getting the hang of this!” 

The crab clicked his claws proudly and set down his king. Rainer took a deep breath and sighed. “Almost,” she said. “Almost. You can’t move a king more than one space away, my dear little crab, that’s not how it works.”

Snippers chirped sadly. 

“But! I’ve left an opening for your bishop, you can move it there!” Rainer pointed at a spot on the board. Snippers’ eye stalks roved around the board, and he cautiously picked up a bishop, edging it into place. “That’s it, you’ve got it!” Snippers drummed his legs cheerfully on the ground. 

Rainer glanced at the squirrel skeleton; it picked up a knight with both paws and put it down. “You’re really getting the hang of it,” she said fondly. “Good work!” 

Two moves from now, Snippers’ newly-placed bishop could take the squirrel’s rook. If Snippers took that opening - which he would, now that she’d set him up - then the squirrel’s knight would take the bishop, opening up a gap for the squirrel’s queen to move forward. 

She gave Snippers an encouraging smile. “Good, good work,” she said. “Just make sure you’re thinking at least one step ahead.”

**THE STABLES**

Despite everything, some things remained familiar. 

Shoulders slumping, Fitzroy followed the signposts through the school’s sprawling grounds. He eventually found his way to the school’s stables. There were pegasi there, a few griffins, and a unicorn or two, munching on late afternoon snacks and chatting softly about their days. Fitzroy found a hay bale near the back and sat down, ignoring how the hay poked through his pants and tickled, and just… breathed.

What a day. What a fucking day. He’d made a fool of himself in the training grounds that morning, and hadn’t been able to focus in classes in the early afternoon. And it wasn’t the most noble thing for him to do, but every place had somewhere to hide when things went wrong.

There had been so many horses in Clyde Nite’s Night Knight School’s stables - dozens and dozens of them in their stalls, munching oats or whinnying at each other across the aisles. Small yet speedy ponies the perfect size for gnomes; great beasts seven feet tall at the shoulder that shook the ground when they walked, their hairy hooves raising clouds of dust. Horses fit for an army in training. 

And they were all so, so tired. It was hard work, being a knight’s steed. After riding lessons, Fitzroy would sometimes linger in the stables. He would feed them apples and lumps of sugar; he would shudder when they slobbered on his hands, but their silent, gentle gratitude made up for it. 

There was also a cat there: a soft staticky hairball of an orange beast, who seemed cursed with a hovering spell and floated around the stables like an errant balloon. Her favorite place to float was in front of the stable bathroom’s mirror. Fitzroy would scratch her ears and watch her drift to the ceiling, to snatch scrambling, skittering mice from the beams. Sometimes he would throw her treats. The horses would watch, ears pricked, as the cat tumbled through the air trying to snap them up.

Those were the days. They really were the days. Fitzroy put his head in his hands, throat burning with something he didn’t want to name, and closed his eyes.

Claws skittered across the hay; soft, high mumbling reached his ears. Fitzroy lifted his head and stared, as Snippers snuck into the stables, dragging a large bag of pretzels behind him. “Please tell me you didn’t steal those from Rolandus,” he sighed.

Snippers squeaked.

“This might be wishful thinking, but… I’m going to take that as a no.” 

Snippers wordlessly lifted his front claws. Fitzroy sighed and picked him up, placing him on the hay bale next to him. He grabbed the pretzel bag, shaking off bits of hay. “Want a piece?”

Snippers gave him a look. “No need to be rude about it, good grief,” Fitzroy said. He pulled it open and gave Snippers a pretzel; the crab carefully snapped it in a few places, claws as precise as surgeon’s scissors, and held up what was left. “Yes, that’s… very good,” Fitzroy said, confused. 

He watched as Snippers held it in front of his crabby face, just under his eyes. It looked like an upside-down triangle, with two bits swooping left and right underneath it like a smile. “I don’t - oh, I see. It looks like a cat’s or dog’s nose and mouth, the way you… okay. That’s nice.”

Snippers said something incomprehensible in crab-speak and ate the pretzel, meticulously nibbling without a crumb to spare. Fitzroy passed him another one; two snips later, and one curved part of the pretzel had been removed. Snippers held it up proudly. “Is that a… teardrop?”

More little chittering crab words. “No? What -” Snippers turned the pretzel; the remaining semi-circle section of the pretzel was on top, while the triangular bit was on the bottom. “An ice cream cone?” Snippers chirped at him, bobbing from side to side, and started eating the pretzel again. Despite himself, he laughed. “Oh! That’s a yes, then. I’m getting good at this!”

The pegasi in the stables murmured to themselves; hooves thumped on the hay. Things rustled overhead; small creatures with delicate wings roosted in the rafters, eyes bright and gleaming. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the stable’s windows. Fitzroy took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

Festo had told him to treat the crab with kindness. Was that really so hard?

Snippers' claws edged towards the bag of pretzels in Fitzroy’s hands; he fished one out and passed it to him, smiling softly. At the end of everything, he could be capable of just that. Treating things with kindness. It wasn’t much - but maybe, just maybe, it could be the best he could do.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: [@ladyfl4me](https://ladyfl4me.tumblr.com/)
> 
> thanks for reading!!


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